


Special Express Delivery

by EndlessNepenthe



Series: We're Both a Little Broken, But Together We'll Fill In The Cracks [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Cute Peter Parker, Flash is mean as always, Fluff, Gen, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and it's soft for Peter, very very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessNepenthe/pseuds/EndlessNepenthe
Summary: "Peter. Where is your assignment?"“I…” Peter stares unblinkingly into the depths of his backpack. “I don’t have it,” he says, voice soft with bewildered disbelief.





	Special Express Delivery

“Before we start class for the day, I’m going to collect your assignments. As we all know, these are worth fifteen percent of your marks, so I hope you have put forth your greatest efforts. Please take them out and stay at your desks, I will be coming around.”

The classroom bursts into a loud mess of rustling papers and the grating slide of the zippers on backpacks. Peter freezes in his seat, blood rushing loudly in his ears.

He remembered staying up really late to finish it, exhausted and stressed and frustrated with his slow processing brain. Remembered being so relieved when he’d finally completed it, cheering tiredly with Tony, the billionaire immediately herding Peter to his bed to snatch the last few hours of sleep the teenager could get before he had to be awake for school. Remembered being gently tugged from sleep by fond fingers running soothingly through his hair and the low rumble of a familiar voice, the coaxing words of encouragement low and rough with bleary drowsiness that Peter shared. Remembered the habitual routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, combing his damp fingers through the few tangles in his thick hair, sleepily tugging on his usual ensemble of teenage student clothes (soft t shirt, thick hoodie, tight fitting jeans, comfortably thin windbreaker jacket just in case), shoving textbooks and loose papers from his desk into his open backpack, smelling the dark coffee Tony always drank as the billionaire pressed a sandwich into Peter’s hands for the teenager to eat in the car, and absentmindedly drinking the glass of warm milk that had been waiting for him on the kitchen counter — when had that become a habit, anyway?

 _Children need to drink milk,_ Tony had quipped the first time he’d nudged the glass towards Peter. _Why not?_ Peter had mused, intending to go along with the joke, figuring that it was a one time thing. The milk had been the perfect temperature for someone with a sensitive tongue to gulp down without being uncomfortable with the heat, but enough to be a comfortable warmth settling in Peter’s stomach after he drank it. Peter had been touched by the thought Tony had put into a simple glass of milk; since then, Peter happily drinks without a second thought, relishing the warmth it brought — both in his stomach and heart, spreading through his body like gentle sunshine. And it’s there waiting for him every time, without fail, like magic, the scent soft and sweet beneath Tony’s bitter black coffee beans.

The morning had been a hazy blur; Peter had not been properly awake and conscious of the things happening around him, settling into habit and dragging himself through the expected motions while he was half asleep on his feet. Happy was grumpy on Monday mornings, and it was only made worse by the early hour and the long drive he had to make to deliver Peter to his school. So Peter had made an effort not to succumb to the sleep deprived slowness that dragged at his limbs like a malevolent sloth spirit, packing his backpack quickly — it was more him fidgeting nervously in place, itching to move, as Tony dropped a few juice boxes and individually packaged snacks into Peter’s backpack for the teenager’s enhanced metabolism, muttering under his breath about caloric intakes and energy yield before adding an apple from the fridge — and somehow managing to make it to the backseat of the silver Audi before Happy did. Since Happy didn’t have time to stew in his angry frustration while waiting for Peter to scurry to the car, the man was considerably less irritated than he could have been, the furrow between his brows not so glaringly prominent. Peter had been silently delighted to have been the cause of Happy’s significantly more pleasant mood, that happiness only adding to the fuzzy tingling warmth curling around his insides from having Tony fuss over him like an affectionate doting parent. As he ate the sandwich Tony had given him for breakfast, Peter feels ready to take on the world, despite the fatigue that blanketed and throbbed in his brain like an awful hangover.

“Peter. Where is your assignment?”

His morning had started off so well, so _perfectly._ Peter had been so happy, high on how much good luck he suddenly seemed to have, basking in the way everything seemed to go his way, something so rare it was like seeing a double rainbow. But _of course_ he had to forget his assignment, the one thing he had tried so hard to remember, the thing he’d slaved away for long consecutive hours to complete, the thing that was the reason behind his lack of sleep. With a sinking heart, Peter numbly unzips his backpack, searching for the assignment he knew wasn’t going to be there.

“I…” Peter stares unblinkingly into the depths of his backpack. “I don’t have it,” he says, voice soft with bewildered disbelief.

 _Out of everyone here, why you? I had high hopes, Peter,_ his teacher’s eyes seem to say when Peter looks up. “You don’t have it.”

“I finished it, I swear! I just forgot it at home...”

The teacher sighs, shaking his head in disappointment, and steps past Peter.

Angry with himself, Peter sinks a heavy hand into his hair, tugging bitterly at the thick curls, ignoring Ned’s shocked _You forgot your assignment?!_ His phone vibrates with an incoming text; desperate for a distraction from his warring emotions, Peter fishes his phone — courtesy of Tony Stark — out from his pocket, swiftly inputting his password to unlock it. In a twist of fate, he finds a text from Tony himself, attached to a photo of a neat stack of stapled papers sitting on the billionaire’s glass coffee table. _Missing something?_ the text reads, and Peter gasps softly in realization.

“Is it okay if I hand it in by the end of the day?” Peter blurts, turning wide desperate eyes to his teacher.

“I’m sorry Peter,” the teacher sighs, collecting the last of the assignments. “I know you’re an excellent student and I will accept it if you get it to me by then, but I have to dock 5% because it will still be late.”

“Okay,” Peter mumbles, shoulders slumping.

Behind him, Flash laughs, the sound ugly and mocking.

 

_To: Mr. Stark_

_Mr. Stark can you please tell Happy to bring it I’m so sorry for bothering you I know you’re busy but that assignment is worth a lot_

 

Nervously chewing his bottom lip, Peter cradles the phone in his lap like it was a fragile thing made entirely of the thinnest glass, praying for Tony to reply as his teacher begins writing on the chalkboard.

 

_From: Mr. Stark_

_You worked so hard on it and forgot it here_

 

Peter could feel Tony's disapproval through the small black text on the screen.

 

_From: Mr. Stark_

_Sounds like something you would do. About time, actually_

 

The crushing feeling of being an utter failure increases, and Peter presses his forehead to the smooth surface of the desk, despising himself.

 

_From: Mr. Stark_

_Hey_

_Don't stress about it kid I'm not mad_

_You'll get your assignment_

_Special express delivery_

 

Something in Peter melts with the overwhelming relief he felt in that moment. _Mr. Stark isn't angry with me._ No, Tony was in a _great_ mood, if his joke was any indication.

 

_To: Mr. Stark_

_Thank you !!!_

_Thank you so so much Mr. Stark_

 

_From: Mr. Stark_

_It's alright kiddo don't worry_

_Now_

_Pay attention to class_

 

_To: Mr. Stark_

_Sir yes sir :D_

 

Despite Flash's hissed taunts and his brain constantly whispering _You're such an idiot, how could you forget your assignment like that,_ Peter forces himself to listen to his teacher droning on about the history of some powerful continent located on the other half of the world, half-heartedly scribbling down some notes summarizing the most important events. _Losing 5% is much better compared to losing all 15%,_ Peter reassures himself, mentally kicking himself for not thinking to put the assignment in his backpack before he had gone to sleep.

A small wad of paper hits him in the back of his head, Flash's resulting snicker grating on Peter's nerves and igniting his anger. Peter sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek, setting down the pencil in his hand when his enhanced hearing catches the sound of the thin wood creaking and threatening to give under his fingers. The second ball somehow manages to tumble under the collars of both Peter's hoodie and t shirt, rough edges of the paper scraping against the sensitive skin at the dip of his spine; Peter subtly shifts his posture, disrupting the path of the paper ball and forcing it to roll over the waistband of his jeans instead of under.

Determined not to give Flash the satisfaction of a reaction, Peter focuses on scribbling something in the margins of his notebook, only half listening to the teacher and curling his free hand into a fist in his lap, using the sharp twinge of pain from his blunt nails digging into his sensitive palm to ground himself as balls of paper continue to fly at Peter. _C'mon Peter. You're Spiderman, you can handle a little annoying bullying._ Looking down at what he'd been unintentionally doodling, Peter frowns at the rough circle with a triangle in the center. Yet another ball of paper rolls down his neck, but Peter doesn't even register it; he presses down on the tip of the pencil, absently darkening one side of the triangle.

It isn't until Peter's mind pulls up a memory of a dark room, warmth at his side, and a soft cold blue glow like a gentle night light in the shape of a _triangle_ before the teenager realizes exactly what he had been mindlessly drawing. Smiling slowly, Peter carefully solidifies the sketchy lines with broad delicate strokes, shading around the edges of the triangle.

A single sharp knock on the door has everyone in the room freezing like stone statues, eyes wide and startled. The teacher turns away from the chalkboard, chalk held aloft comically, but before he could utter anything along the lines of _Come in,_ the doorknob is turning. In walks none other than Tony Stark, dressed as sharp as always, dark navy suit jacket casually unbuttoned and chocolate brown hair artfully coiffed. His sharp eyes are hidden behind warm brown tinted sunglasses, perfectly shined dress shoe heels clicking softly as Tony strolls towards the students at their desks with feline grace.

“Y-you’re…,” the teacher stutters.

Tony pivots smoothly in place, simultaneously removing his sunglasses with a flair that was exclusive to Tony Stark. “Yup,” he replies flippantly, raising an eyebrow in a playful challenge.

The teacher gapes soundlessly like a fish out of water. Tony dismisses him easily with a lazy smirk, twirling one arm of his sunglasses around his index finger and turning back to saunter directly to Peter's desk. The portfolio folder under his arm is placed in front of Peter, soft black leather sleek and professional, emblazoned with the bright bleached white _Stark Industries_ logo.

“Special express delivery,” Tony repeats the words he'd sent in text earlier with a small smile, voice warm and amused.

A startled laugh forces its way out of Peter's mouth as he lifts his incredulous gaze to Tony's, feeling his cheeks burn red as every pair of eyes in the classroom turn to him. “Y-you didn't have to come here yourself,” Peter manages to mumble.

“The meeting wasn't very entertaining,” Tony replies with a low chuckle.

Peter feels like his face is about to catch fire any second. Flash's eyes are bugging so much that Peter is mildly worried they might pop out of his head, and Ned looks like he's seconds from having an awe induced heart attack.

“Huh,” Tony suddenly breathes, intelligent eyes narrowing at something behind Peter.

What used to be a warm and content demeanor around Tony sharpens into something cold and dangerous. Peter twists around in his seat to see Tony stalking toward Flash like a predator hunting its prey, the teenager hastily straightening up in respect as Tony scrutinizes him with narrowed eyes. The billionaire crooks a nonchalant finger as he bends, and Flash obediently brings his head closer.

Peter doesn't mean to listen, but he's so _curious,_ and his enhanced senses have no problems picking up Tony's low whisper.

 _“Listen. If I ever catch you bullying anyone, especially Peter, after this — and I _ will _catch you, I'm Tony Stark — I will personally make sure the highest position you can get in life is flipping McDonald's burgers. This is not a threat, child, it's a promise.” _

Tony straightens, still speaking with a voice that was exactly like a smooth and calm ocean before a storm, idly swinging his sunglasses between his fingers. “Are we clear, Flash Thompson?”

Flash squeaks, nodding enthusiastically.

“Excellent.”

“Tony Stark…,” the teacher mumbles in dazed shock, still clutching the piece of chalk.

“That's me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way.” Tony heads to an open window, pushing it fully open.

“M-Mr. Stark?! That's not the door.”

“Doors are not my style,” Tony purrs, tapping his chest. He slides out gracefully, bright gleaming metal climbing over his clothes faster than water would soak fabric. Perched on the window, Tony turns and catches Peter’s eyes, smiling with a flash of straight white teeth. “Try not to forget something so important next time, Pete.”

Tony nudges himself off the window ledge, taking a single step into thin air and wobbling a little before his repulsors steady him. He hovers for a second, dramatically spreading his arms at the absolutely flabbergasted class staring at him with open mouths, helmet forming around his head.

“You'll catch flies. Stay in school, kids,” Tony quips, and with a teasing wiggle of his metal encased fingers, flies away.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this post online that said “Tony’s going to die to save a world that never loved him” and I literally cannot stop thinking about it
> 
> (but because I'm soft and fragile, I'm going to fix this: Peter is Tony's world and he loves Tony very much, so it's okay, Tony is loved by the world :(( MARVEL KEEP HIM ALIVE PLEASE I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO ANXIOUS COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS I AM NOT READY FOR ENDGAME)


End file.
